Hunter College is a setting no one can prepare you for, from meaningless conversations between friends to $5 Poland Spring water bottles and everything in between. These diaries from your Hunter Athenian staff will dive into the daily rollercoaster at Hunter College.
Inspired by the NY Times, this second edition of the Sky Bridge Diaries contains observations of tiny moments on campus from The Athenian’s journalists.
The Sounds of Silence in the Fifth-floor Lounge
Dear Diary,
As I sit in the fifth-floor lounge in the West building, the antisocial, boring, screen addicted people shine bright. From kids having their feet kicked up to others with their faces in computers to the majority of the bunch aimlessly scrolling on their phones.
Not one single voice is heard. Everyone is in their own ecosystem, an independent bunch, probably waiting for their next class to begin or working on an assignment due in 15 minutes.
The only noise to be heard is the continuous clicking and screeching of the escalator, which has no beginning or end. The crinkling of the Lay’s chip bag shines bright, as it is nearly impossible not to be loud when eating a bag of chips.
As I look at the scene, I think to myself, “Why is there a red velvet rope dividing the escalators?” It does not fit the setting, yet somehow makes sense because nothing usually makes sense at Hunter.
Maybe I’ll make a scene so everyone looks up at me and leaves their devices.
-Gene Propper
Migraine, Water, and a Side of Sass
After being dismissed on a break from my class, I made a beeline to the cafeteria to purchase a bottle of water for a throbbing migraine.
I walked down with a classmate, casually discussing our other classes, and entered the newly renovated deli. Despite being close to 6 p.m., the smell of meats and breakfast sandwiches still wafted through the air.
I grabbed my Poland Spring sports cap water and walked to the cashier to pay.
“$5.75”, the cashier said.
With a raised eyebrow and some sass, I replied, “$5.75? What is this, Madison Square Garden?”
“Okay, Okay… For you, $2.72”, the cashier said quickly.
“Okay, thank you,” I said as I quickly pulled out my iPhone to make the purchase using Apple Pay.
As I walked out, I turned to my classmate and said, “Seriously, that’s MSG pricing.”
-Alexis Profeta
The Calorie Dilemma
Dear Diary,
A crowd of students is seated in a study area. It’s 6:24 p.m. on a Wednesday.
I spy two friend groups, and the rest are scattered around, either seated by the tables or on the individual lounge couches.
The lunchroom is nearby, and the escalators are right behind us.
Two groups interact, and everyone else is asleep, on their phones or studying.
All members are immersed in one another. It’s lively and quiet at the same time, calm and disruptive. How else can I explain it?
Two guys and a girl are next to me, and they’re discussing a game they’re playing. Who’s winning? Who’s losing? I lost interest after 13 seconds.
Another friend group in front of me was trying to figure out how many calories their friend should consume. Could this be for a nutrition class? Or maybe they’re just really looking out for her health. I wish my friends did that for me. Then again, I probably wouldn’t listen. Food is too good for me.
-Carol Bautista
Third Floor Triangle
Dear Diary,
I’m sitting on the third floor in the West building, before the Sky Bridge, where the tables are chess boards. A plaque on the wall says it’s the Grateful Auditor’s Study Area. A student in khaki green is sleeping in a corner on a low cushioned chair. A group of friends are discussing their vacations in the Caribbean.
The escalators screech, an annoying, persistent tone I can’t ignore.
People pass by on the way to the East building. A girl’s tote bag says “make vegetables not war.” Some are sleeping, and others are in online classes. A girl is eating ramen in another corner.
A boba tea is on the table, unopened, unclaimed.
A girl wearing a leather blazer says she is a journalism major but wants to go into PR or marketing. She likes writing but doesn’t care about films or other media. She’s a lower senior.
A guy in a black tee and striped shorts with a One Piece backpack and green headphones decisively shuts his laptop and leaves.
A girl in all pink–coat, sweater, pants, everything–got a 90 on a test. She takes the boba to go.
It’s quiet now, only the rhythmic thumping of the escalator in the background.
-Etta Feuer
Sugar is the New Jesus
Dear Diary,
I’m sitting next to the cafe on the third floor of Hunter East, sweating through a fast-creeping fever. It feels like there’s a billion people here, navigating through the tables like ants in a colony.
A girl in a black lace dress is heating her dinner in the communal microwave, which probably hasn’t been cleaned in at least 10 years. One time, I peeked my head inside and discovered a microcosm of dried-up fluids and food splatters. That was my first and last time using a Hunter microwave.
An older man sits a few tables away from me, speaking loudly on the phone with a strong New York accent. He’s talking about economics and moving something, somewhere… I don’t know. I barely passed Introduction to Economics.
A younger man working behind the counter of the cafe keeps yelling about sugar. “Sugar is available here. It’s here. Sugar is here.” It reminds me of the people I saw next to Penn Station once, who were screaming “Jesus is here” through the megaphones.
I need a Tylenol.
-Anastasiia Poleva
Out of Order
Dear Diary,
It’s 6:09 p.m., and two of the library elevators are out of order. I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t be surprised if all of them were out of order. This is Hunter. This is CUNY. This is New York City. I don’t even trust train station elevators.
But the new ones at the 68th Street–Hunter College station look nice. The renovations are good: the wide stairs, and the mural and the fresh, unstained glass elevators. I bet they’ll be dirty by fall. I wonder if the workers will take the time to clean them when it happens. I can name like 20 stations where they don’t do that. They just let the dirt pile up so much that it’s no longer removable. Then they’ll up our fare so they’ll have money to knock down the walls and rebuild them. And we’ll keep paying. Or hopping.
Occasional hopper,
-Raven Campbell
Wednesday Nights at Hunter
Dear Diary,
It’s a Wednesday at the tail end of 5 p.m., and my back is against the cold glass of the Hunter Sky Bridge, my legs spread out over the metal grates that separate me from the floor more often than not.
The school lacks seating, which is why I find myself here so often, as the ill-colored, purple and green walls of the library are almost always lined with students. But now, the school is rather quiet, calm. I came down here to witness a conversation, a scene, but I can’t seem to find anyone. The only sounds at Hunter at the tail end of 5 p.m. on a Wednesday are the soft rumbles of the subway, car honks from outside the thin glass, occasional music from the cracked door of the nearby radio station, and of course, my own thoughts.
As I sit within the ever-so-dreary walls of Hunter, I wonder, as I often do, if there’s anything about the place that I’ll miss when I graduate in just a few short months. The Sky Bridge is often bleak at this point in the day, despite it being one of the more picturesque aspects of the airport-looking commuter school. As I head towards the end, many have asked me if I like it, would recommend it. I say, as I feel, that I most definitely wouldn’t recommend it, but I wouldn’t change it either.
There’s humanity here, life in the way that a sneaker squeaks across the black tile floors and life in the way a girl drops a book ten feet away. There’s a story within both of those, one I don’t yet know.
-Sydney Hargrove
Lost in Translation
Dear Diary,
It’s a cloudy Wednesday afternoon at Hunter College. It’s 6 p.m. On my walk, I decide to head into the library to get some peace and quiet.
I walk past a few students on the Sky Bridge, then walk straight down and make a sharp right. To my surprise, I’m met with a small, cozy room. There’s a large brown brick wall filled with multi-colored funky-shaped seats and dining tables.
There’s one student sleeping on a red couch near the back, another one listening to music in the corner and other students scattered about with their bright, luminescent laptop screens bouncing off their tired faces.
But two students that catch my wandering eye are two girls sitting criss cross on the couch, opposite side of me going off about their favorite movies. The room is filled with just their voices and nothing else. I’m intrigued, so I listen in.
“Recently, I saw Heretic, and it was so, so good!” the girl on the right says.
“Oh my gosh, I want to watch it, but I can’t see horror movies on my own,” says the other student on the left. She has a funny smile plastered onto her face.
Their conversation bounces back and forth, and for a moment, I forget that I’m at school. It feels as if I’m in a living room with my roommates in my “apartment,” just listening to them bicker on.
It’s a nice picture in front of me.
-Angela Chavez
Former Athenian reporter Andrew Shamailov created the title, ‘Sky Bridge Diaries. ‘
